Untitled

The gods of love assure me
That I shouldn't give up hope,
That out of the gray, impermeable heavens
A merciful angel will glisten hotly
And gyro-wing it down to earth
To dispel my dismal, demoralized state.
But years lurch by with solemn clicks,
And as they pass, they nibble off
Gobbets of my tattered cheer;
I fear these welts are here for good,
And doubt that any lofty wraith
Can mitigate my hebetude,
For happy endings are mostly myth.